


She is but flesh and bone (Earth, remixed)

by cirque



Category: Greek and Roman Mythology
Genre: F/M, Remix, gifts and curses, so much earth imagery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-01
Updated: 2015-07-01
Packaged: 2018-04-07 01:27:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4244331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cirque/pseuds/cirque
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(A curse of men on her outward breath) </p><p>//</p><p>Pandora and Prometheus, before the end of the world and after.</p>
            </blockquote>





	She is but flesh and bone (Earth, remixed)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [havisham](https://archiveofourown.org/users/havisham/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Earth](https://archiveofourown.org/works/440169) by [havisham](https://archiveofourown.org/users/havisham/pseuds/havisham). 



> This was my first ever attempt at a remix. Is this even a remix...? (Sorry).

When he first meets her she is his brother's bride, a strange and foreign girl who does not meet anyone's eyes. She has pity on her face and dirty hands as Epimetheus introduces them. He knows she knows his story, and he hates the shame in her eyes.

He asks Epimetheus, "Where on Earth did you find her?"

Epimetheus gleams. "Not on Earth at all."

The girl, some distance behind them, makes her hands into fists. A goddess then? Or something more?

"Well brother, she is a strange choice."

Epimetheus shakes his head. "She is a gift."

Pandora twirls, her feet rooting into the loose sand. Epimetheus watches her in much the same way that the birds eye Prometheus's liver.

 

* * *

 

The years burn on, and Prometheus waxes and wanes, relentless. Pandora loses her Olympic glow, the pity in her eyes, and her shyness; she gains a silver streak of mischief, a skill for tilling the earth, and a deep tan. She works hard in the fields and the mill, and mankind crowds around her, eager for her gifts.

At sunset, she watches the birds from a high rock.

"There's a man in town who says he's here to free you."

The waves thwack against Prometheus's legs. The foamy sea reeks of old salt. He has heard it all before. "Many have said that. All have failed. Mighty Zeus himself ordered me here. None can break that order."

Pandora bites her dirty fingernail. "I don't know. This one's a son of Zeus. He's particularly strong."

Prometheus has his doubts.

"Suit yourself." She spits her nail into the ocean. "It's your own fault anyway."

"Sister dear, I have seen the way you look at that jar of gifts. It is no secret. And I have heard the things you teach the men, the way they look to the sun and moon for guidance, for the growth of their crops and the turning of their wheels. No longer do they worship Olympus."

"I am giving them independence. I am giving them education and skills and hope."

"I thought much the same, and what did it bring me? But sister, I only gave them fire. You have given them the earth."

She turns away from him. "It is rightfully theirs."

"But it is not yours to give. Think well on what the gods above might consider of your actions."

"I was a gift to mankind." She has tears in her deep green eyes.

Prometheus rather thinks she was a curse, but he does not say so, for he has never been cruel.

 

* * *

 

Long after Heracles has been and gone, and Prometheus has sweated the weight of the chains from his skin as he walked mile after mile, he finds Pandora again, crouching in a burnt out field. She smells of charcoal. He touches her singed hair with all the gentleness he can bear. She leans against him, exhausted.

"We lost it all." Her voice is quiet, like the distant wind. "I don't know how many have died, I cannot count their numbers." She sobs like a child, wild and ferocious. "I was supposed to be their gift."

Prometheus rubs her shoulders and thinks about the many forms that chains can take. She makes a teasing comment about the state of his hair and he knows more than anything that he will never leave her again.

They reach the river at nightfall. She's still a little lost in her own mind, but she kisses him with grit and might, the salt of her tears and the tang of dirt spurring her on. He does not push her back. His arms have long felt empty without her, and he welcomes her steady weight, and the scorpion sting of her torn nails against his scars. She catches the ever-white mark above his liver, and he hisses and pulls her closer.

"I'm sorry," she whispers, but it isn't for him.

He reaches for her, and catches a handful of the dry earth. _My love_ , he thinks.

"Yes," she says, impossibly quiet, caught on the breeze. "Yes."

The fire burns low, and he lets it, his hands busied with better things. The water laps against the riverbank; at last it does not bring pain, but a balm in Pandora's name.


End file.
